


Tales of Refuge

by Fumm95



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: F/M, Farewells, Final Fantasy XIV: Heavensward, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Introspection, Late Night Conversations, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-10-20 18:51:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17627723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fumm95/pseuds/Fumm95
Summary: The little breaths and quiet moments for the Warrior of Light while in Ishgard.





	1. Return

**Author's Note:**

> Ficlets and drabbles relating to the Heavensward expansion as I make my way through the story for the first time. All tags, including relationship and character tags, will be updating as I post more.
> 
> For this chapter:
> 
> As I was playing X’ondarya, who is my very first character to beat base game, I actually never changed which aetheryte “Return” was bound to. It really doesn’t change much other than having to pay more to teleport, in a lot of cases, and it always felt so final to change it from Limsa Lominsa, my starting area. It wasn’t until Ishgard that I felt the need to rebind it, because it felt appropriate for X’ondarya to see it as her home. Which, of course, makes everything that’s been happening in Heavensward worse. But this takes place before everything goes to shit, probably the first time she gets back from Camp Cloudtop?

The towers of Ishgard appeared first on the horizon, the small specks swiftly growing as the airship made its way through the crisp Coerthean air towards its destination. Buffeted by the steady breeze, it soared ever closer, crew and passengers alike watching as the buildings and walkways pulled into view.

Leaning against the side of the airship, X’ondarya stared out at the now-familiar silhouettes, at the tall spires of the Cathedral and the Holy Vault, at the knight’s tower and marketplace. At the manors of the high houses and friends on the airship landing, awaiting her return.

At her home.


	2. A Night's Rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quiet moment after first arriving in House Fortemps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, when I got to 2.4 in the stuff between ARR and Heavensward, I immediately fell in love with Haurchefant, despite barely remembering him in base game. And, of course, all of Ul’dah’s questline happened and he is the first to offer you “unconditional support.” And so, naturally, I fell for him hard.
> 
> This smacked me in the face soon after reaching the beginning of Heavensward and it took me forever to write out but here. Have some disgusting slowburn, featuring my Miqo’te arcanist.
> 
> Is the title a reference to A Knight’s Calling? Mayyyyybe.

The moon shone down from the cloudless night sky, its pale light illuminating the unfamiliar shadows of her guest room. Under the warm covers of her borrowed bed, X’ondarya turned, staring out at the towering buildings that dominated the Ishgardian landscape, dark in the moonlight. It was a far cry from the low buildings she was accustomed to, as was everything else about Ishgard.

Sighing, she pushed herself upright. There was no point in pretending that sleep would come, not when she could still hear General Raubahn’s anguished shouts and the roar of rocks collapsing in the tunnel behind her. Not when she was lying in a too-comfortable bed while her friends and allies were captured or missing or… or worse.

She shook her head. No, sleep would doubtless prove elusive.

Judging from the dark halls and general stillness, the rest of the household had long since retired for the night, which meant there was nobody to stop her as she crept from her room down the guest wing and towards the nearest parlor. Alphinaud’s room was silent and dark, though she rather doubted that he’d want to talk either way; he had never looked as shaken as he had been as they made their escape from Thanalan.

Then again, she had already replayed that whole day’s events more than enough times in her own head.

Instead, she made her way to the smaller sitting room, pouring all of her concentration into the tiny flame she summoned in her palm, just bright enough to see with. Around her, shadows danced in the flickering flames, unfamiliar walls and tapestries twisted by her still overactive imagination into strange creatures.

By contrast, inside the room, dark and empty though it was, lingered the faint warmth of her hosts. A still-smoldering log lay in the fireplace, its surface charred but serviceable. With a flick of her wrist, she flung her flame at it, watching as the spark sputtered before catching and licking eagerly at the wood. Beside the flames, a large couch stretched across the wooden floor, a silent invitation that she took, still focusing on the flames and gently radiating heat. Wood. Fire. The energy given off by the fully aerobic combustion of wood could be calculated by the mass of the wood multiplied by…

“Unable to sleep?”

Blinking several times to clear the stars from her eyes, she turned. Lord Haurchefant, looking oddly underdressed out of his full armor, stood at the doorway, watching her with concern in his eyes. Leaning back against the cushions, she shrugged and he offered her a small smile.

“I cannot say I blame you.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “May I?”

She nodded, tucking her legs under her as he smiled, warmer this time. To her surprise, he disappeared from view, though his goal was revealed a few minutes later when he returned with a bottle and two glasses filled with bright amber liquid, one of which he handed to her.

“A Bouldeaux cognac. One of Ishgard’s finest. After all, I never did get to thank you properly for all you have done for me and mine.”

She raised an eyebrow. “On the contrary, you have done so many times already. Besides, I believe all of this more than makes up for anything you could possibly have to thank me for, and then some.”

He grinned, a little sheepishly. “And I confess you look like you could use it. It is the least I could do for as dear a friend as yourself.”

For a moment, she considered protesting but Lord Haurchefant Greystone was not one who would lightly take no for an answer… and she had to admit that the temptation to drown her memories in liquor, at least for a time, was far too strong. Instead, she smiled, more genuine than she expected it to be, and tapped her glass against his. “Very well, then. Thank you.”

His grin widening, he raised his own drink in a small toast. “To you, and all the help you have given House Fortemps.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop a faint chuckle from escaping her lips. “And to you, for returning the favor tenfold.”

Her first sip was careful, though that did nothing to dull the flavor, of spices and vanilla and rich oak, that filled her mouth. Warmth settled in her stomach, chasing away both the Ishgardian chill and the memories of the past few days, and she sighed, feeling her muscles relax.

“That good?”

She opened eyes that she hadn’t realized she had closed to find him watching her with a soft gaze and faint smile, his own glass apparently completely forgotten. A faint heat rose in her cheeks, though she couldn’t be sure if it was from the alcohol. “Indeed. Though I must admit I am quite uneducated in the ways of cognac.”

He chuckled, low and rich. “If you were to ask my brothers, nor do I. They find Excavalier to be much superior but this has always been my favorite. Sweet and yet strong and full. Rather like…”

As his voice trailed off, she raised a brow, but he only shook his head, the flames casting a light flush to his face. Instead, she took another sip, watching as the liquid swirled in her glass for a few moments, before turning her attention back to her companion. “You couldn’t sleep either?”

He started, almost spilling his still-untouched drink, then grinned wryly. “Not so much. With the Dragonsong War leaving all of Ishgard much beleaguered, it has been quite some time since I have been able to return home. I appear to have grown quite accustomed to life in Camp Dragonhead; the beds here are more comfortable than I prefer.”

When he saw her incredulous look, he laughed. “Is that so hard to believe?”

“Now that I know where you spent your childhood, yes.” She nodded toward the fireplace. “I’d imagine that most in your position would enjoy returning home than staying in the camp barracks.”

“Perhaps, though I have no doubt that I was always far more trouble than I was worth. And though my lord father insisted that I be raised as family in Fortemps Manor, I am certain my stepmother never reconciled herself with having a constant reminder of her husband’s indiscretion in the household. Oh, come now,” he added, warm eyes taking in her expression. “One cannot blame her for finding discomfort and it was hardly a price to pay for such an opportunity.”

“Milord…”

Before she was even certain what she intended to, or even could, say, he waved her away. “None of that, if you please.” When she shot him a questioning look, he shook his head with a cheerful smile. “Just Haurchefant. After all you have done for my house and Ishgard as a whole, there cannot be a reason for you to stand on ceremony so.”

She blinked and opened her mouth, though nothing emerged. As if taking advantage of her momentary speechlessness, he pressed on, leaning forward until she could only focus on the earnest blue eyes peering at her.

“Were it not for my father’s kindness, I would not even have my title. Please, X’ondarya. You are my guest, and far more importantly than that, you are my dear friend. And friends have no need for such formality.”

Still blinking somewhat, she grinned and offered him an overly cavalier shrug. “After such an impassioned entreaty, what more can I say? Very well, then, _Haurchefant_.”

His returning smile was blinding, leaving her breathless in its brilliance. He barely seemed to notice its effect on her, however; leaning back, he sighed and took a slow sip of his cognac, appearing more than content to just sit in peace.

With a small sigh of her own, she mirrored him, relaxing into her seat and returning her gaze to the now steadily crackling fire. She blinked, slower, enjoying the gentle heat sinking into her bones.

“So, what do you think of Ishgard?”

Her face pulled into a grimace without thought. “Too cold.”

“Come, now. It can’t possibly be worse than when you sought the airship in Coerthas!”

She could feel her frown deepening at the memory, but still, she shook her head. “No, but you live here. It’s permanent.”

“Permanent, perhaps, but in a comfortable home with roaring fires and warm beds and, now, still warmer company.” He grinned. “One could even say that it is more enjoyable now than ever before. But I daresay that it is considerably colder than you are accustomed to.”

She raised an eyebrow, though in spite of herself; her lips curled into a faint smile. “The arcanists’ academy is in Limsa Lominsa, so quite.”

“Ah.”

“Precisely. It is a rare winter for snow to even so much as dust the stones.”

He nodded. “And it is a rare day indeed to not see any in Ishgard, especially since the Calamity.”

When she made another face, he laughed. “It is not all bad. As children, in the winter months, Artoirel, Emmanellain, and myself would rush outside whenever we had finished our studies.”

“‘Finished?’”

He grinned. “Or sometimes even before. At any rate, there was mischief aplenty for three spirited boys, and Father scolded us more than once for staying out too late or tracking mud inside the house.”

“Even Lord Artoirel?”

His chuckle was low and fond. “Indeed. He may not appear so much so these days but he was the leader of our merry trio, Artoirel. More often than not, it was he who decided what tomfoolery we would find ourselves up to. I believe one winter, he decided it would be great fun to try sliding down the large winding stairs outside.”

She blinked. “The curved ones by the center of the Pillars?”

“The very same. I have no doubt you have walked it yourself more than a few times.”

Stifling a sudden yawn, she laughed. “Did you manage?”

“Indeed, though thankfully the area was fairly deserted.” His eyes, already soft with amusement, took on a distant look. “And even that was not the worst of it. We are truly lucky my father had thought to look for us; he found us just in time to stop us from using the steps in front of the Holy Vault as our next location.”

“The Vault… The one that serves as the archbishop’s residence?”

“And the seat of Ishgard’s government, aye. I am not certain I have ever seen my father so displeased, and for good reason. I shudder to think what would have become of us should anyone else have been the one to discover us. It would be unfortunate indeed for both of House Fortemps’ heirs to be charged for heresy, especially at that age.”

“And Ishgard would be short a most loyal knight, and your father a son to be proud of.”

He shrugged, though his expression brightened as he rubbed at the back of his neck. “Something of the sort, at least.”

Smiling to herself, she inclined her head. “And whose idea was that? Lord Artoirel again?”

To her amusement, her companion shifted, his face almost guilty. “Not so much, at least not that time. ‘Twas mine own.”

“Yours? And was it worth it?”

His fidgeting only intensified. “Hardly, but it was never meant to be so.”

When she raised an eyebrow, a hint of a blush crossed his cheeks.

“To be perfectly honest, it was more to see if it was possible than out of any belief that it would actually be enjoyable. Nevertheless, I doubt the Holy See would take kindly to such an explanation, or any, as it were. Suffice it to say that we were all scolded accordingly.”

She nodded, leaning further back into the cushions. “And Lord Emmanellain?”

“Ah, Emmanellain. He too was quite antithetical to the young man of today... “ He paused, amusement and concern clearly warring in his voice. “Though I fear my tales of the past may be keeping you awake against your will, if that yawn was any indication.”

Flushing, she shook her head. “No, it is refreshing to think about something else, as long as you don’t mind my poor manners.”

“Not at all. If my senseless chatter can be of any assistance to you, then I am glad to provide it.”

Almost of their own volition, her lips curled into a smile. “I hardly believe that anything you say could be considered such, Haurchefant, but thank you.”

He grinned back. “As if I could do anything else. At any rate, the Emmanellain you know is a far cry from the younger brother I had growing up. Quieter and far more cautious was he, though he did and still does idolize Artoirel, even if it is harder to see now.”

“No doubt your father was kept terribly busy with all three of you to look after and keep out of trouble.”

His eyes lit up. “Oh, nothing could be more certain. The attempt at sledding down the steps in front of the Holy Vault was neither the first nor the last time we received such a scolding. For instance, there was the first and last time he ever allowed us a pet…”

As he continued to expound on the various adventures of his wayward youth, X’ondarya closed her eyes and finally let herself relax fully, his gentle voice washing over her in low, soothing waves.

She didn’t realize she had fallen asleep until she woke up the next morning to find Haurchefant curled up beside her, her head resting on his shoulder, and a blanket covering them both. Careful to avoid waking him, she got to her feet and made her way back to her room, smiling and feeling more rested, more optimistic, than she had in a long time.


	3. Farewell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "At a friend's behest had they embarked upon their journey, and so, after their triumphant homecoming and all the inevitable pomp and circumstance, there was but one way it could end..." -From the description for the quest "The Burdens We Bear."
> 
> X'ondarya pays her respect to a "friend."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: Nope, the ending of the Vault never happened and Haurchefant is very much alive and happy.  
> Also me: That sidequest series after 3.3 destroyed me so I’m absolutely going to fic about it.
> 
> For bonus feels, go listen to [Today Has Been OK by Sleeping At Last](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rGb2h1xo4qQ). I may or may not have been listening to it way too much since playing the Vault. Someone save me from the angst.
> 
> I do have ideas bouncing around involving short fluffy scenes with the soft elezen boi where he lives, but I had to write this out for catharsis. Also, yes, I know it's supposed to be the middle of the day in the cutscene, but I got there around sunset in game and it seemed appropriate so I kept that.

There was only one place left to go.

Midgardsormr was waiting at her side before she could call for him, his body pressed to the steel floor in a rare show of consideration. He blinked, head lowered in what could only be understanding as she wordlessly reached for the saddle. And as soon as she had settled herself on his back, before she could even fully contemplate her final destination, he took to the skies, steady and blessedly silent.

For much of her journey, her pilgrimage reliving her role leading towards the end of the Dragonsong War, her thoughts had been whirring, remembering sights and sounds, speaking with friends and former foes alike. But for this… For this, she could not bear to even think, let alone find the right words, if there were any, to give voice to… anything.

At once too soon and not soon enough, the chaotic jumble of structures that formed Azys Lla gave way to the snow-covered peaks of Coerthas. Blinding white met her gaze as Midgardsormr turned southward, sailing over the dark towers of Ishgard and angling for the cluster of buildings in the central highlands, enveloped by their small but sturdy wall.

Camp Dragonhead.

Her hands tightened on the reins in reflex, but still, Midgardsormr said nothing, nor did he cease in his slow descent, just north of the garrison. Instead, a light weight settled on her lap and she looked down to find Sapphire curled against her, dark eyes wide as she butted her in the chest gently.

Blinking away the sudden haze in her eyes, she forced a smile and ran a hand along her oldest companion’s back, before gently letting the aetheric energy holding the carbuncle’s form dissipate.

It was one journey she had to make alone.

Squinting against the late afternoon sun, she dismounted and set off northward. The cold was milder, less biting, than she was expecting, the snow softer under her feet than it had been in weeks. Months, even. Her eyes took in the familiar landscapes, ones she had traversed more times than she cared to remember, that suddenly held so many memories she had never before thought about. Witchdrop, where he had joined her in defense of Lord Francel against the false inquisitor. The Steel Vigil, where he had dispatched her on a rescue mission, again to save Lord Francel. And the garrison, of course, now out of sight, where he had offered her refuge, his unconditional support, without hesitation. And still she pushed on, turning westward and following the faint path through the snow.

In spite of the hint of spring in the air, the wind still stung, cutting freezing trails across her cheeks, buffeting her back as if giving form to her own reluctance. But she could not stop, did not even entertain the thought. It was the least she could do, after all he had done for her.

The ground sloped upward and she followed the incline, lungs burning with every sharp gasp of the frigid air, though whether it was from the strain of the climb or from the ever prevalent tightness in her chest, she couldn’t say. And still she climbed.

Finally, or perhaps after no time at all, she arrived at the summit. Before her, the ground stretched forward, then dropped into the ravine surrounding Ishgard, a sheer cliff overlooking the city. The sun hung low on the horizon, casting a golden glow to the landscape and dazzling the snow around her. And, behind the tall stones, a lone figure in green knelt at the cliff side, before the small memorial that marked Lord Haurchefant Greystone’s final resting place.

Feet stumbling, she came to an unsteady halt, far enough away to give him his privacy and, she hoped, to avoid his detection, but it was not to be so. As he stood and turned, their eyes met, red-rimmed with glassy, and his lips curved into something resembling a smile. “It doesn’t get any easier, does it?”

She opened her mouth to reply, but after a few seconds, could only close it again, swallowing against the lump in her throat.

With a sigh, Lord Francel scrubbed at his eyes before stepping closer. “I do not think I ever properly thanked you for all you did for me and my house.” Not trusting her voice, she shook her head, but still, he paused, his hand a light weight on her shoulder. “I know I never had the opportunity to get to know you better and I do not know if this will make it easier or harder for you, but… in all the years I had known him, I never saw him smile like he had with you. I have no doubt you brought him joy, even…” He smiled again, trembling and yet more genuine, even as his voice threatened to crack. “Even in his final moments.”

A metallic tang filled her mouth, coated her stinging lip, as she nodded, and he closed his eyes, fingers tightening briefly in a gentle squeeze. “I am sorry for your loss.”

She cleared her throat. “And for yours.”

“Thank you.” He bowed his head a brief moment then turned away, setting upon the long trek back to Camp Dragonhead. For a moment, she watched as he made his way across the snow, disappearing along the winding path, before resuming her own journey to the waiting memorial.

In the silence, she dropped to her knees before the stone. Everything was as she had left it, after the defeat of the Archbishop, days, weeks, ago. The marker overlooking Ishgard, the broken shield leaning against the stone. Even the lilies, replaced by fresh, if twisted, ones. Folding her legs under her, she sat and reached out, running a finger along the smooth stone, tracing the etches and swirls of its carving, shadows in the slowly dimming light.

“We did it, Haurchefant.” Her voice cracked, but she shook her head, swiping at her cheeks as she swallowed, hard. “Nidhogg is finished. I… I hope you can see all that we have wrought, that you can see all that we have grown. We have, for the first time in centuries and under your watchful eye, found peace. We could not have done any of this without you.”

The setting sun hung low on the horizon, casting a rich glow to the city, highlighting the manors and towers, the Gates of Judgement and the Steps of Faith and, above all else, the Holy Vault, now empty and powerless.

“Thank you, my dear.” She paused, recalling the faint touch of ghostly hands, the warm smile of peaceful fulfillment, and closed her eyes against the burn of tears.

“Thank you, for everything.”


End file.
